July 8th, 2006


Hopelessly Insane...

I wish sometimes that I had a really wise, compassionate yet common-sensible  advisor (Don't we all?)
In lieu of any advisor at all, I have agreed to a consultation with this cat neurologist in Wimbledon to determine if it really would make sense to have Wotan's brain scanned. (The scan would be £1000-1300,and just the consultation is about £250...) His insurance will only cover about 3/4 of that ...not to mention the treatments, whatever they might be.
My vet now seems to think that there actually is a possibility , if his probable brain tumour is benign, of saving him. God knows. I expect I am behaving completely irresponsibly, as usual, but even if he is 'only a cat'. He's alive, and, when not convulsing, apparently quite happy. 
It only seems decent to give him a chance of a few more 'good' years. To think of any creature dying for sheer want of money is obscene. And yet...Already the medication and vet visits are adding to my debt mountain regularly.

'Someone help me, help me pleee-ee-eze; is the answer up above ?..'

BIG BROTHER  had a good dramatic eviction last night. House 'mother' Lea, the biggest-fake-tits-in England woman, was booted, and 'father'  bitchy Richard, saved. 
Poor Lea's terror of the mob was so extreme you had to feel a little sorry for her, but it made for excellently entertaining  schadenfreude. It was like she was going to be burnt at the stake, or something. Everyone stood around afterwards in The House, weeping and being stunned at the 'tragedy'. Actually, when she got out there, they were less abusive than usual. Poo.
  • Current Music

More Mephisto...


I really love MEFISTOFELE, and don't care who knows it.  Some infuriatingly truncated snippets here, but you can get an idea of its sublime grandiosity. Ah, It's vulgar as hell.Fabulous!
You can also hear Mr Treigle a bit better ,here, singing with Domingo, etc. Wish i had this...
I got my crazy claws on STRANGE CHILD OF CHAOS, but it has almost no photos, and so far, offers little to explain how Mr T became such a fascinating loon ( bottle of Scotch a day, plus four packs of untipped fags and could still boom the plaster off the walls...) There's little about childhood influences and stuff.